Bath City 0-2 Stockport County
Conference National
Tuesday 18th October 2011 – 19:45
Twerton Park is a famous old football ground. Its illustrious turf has been graced by thousands of players and mangers over the years, some of which have won such honours as the Les Phillips Cup, FA Vase and even the infamous Setanta Shield.
Always one to catch a celebrity, I was particularly enthusiastic about the visit of Stockport County and their German manager Dietmar Hamann – a UEFA Champions League winner and World Cup Finalist. Sure, those tin pot competitions are not be as highly regarded as the Somerset Premier Cup, but when I saw him standing in the cold Twerton Park car park, I thought I would wander along and say hello – or “guten tag”.
He wasn’t really the chatty type. He even stole my pen and scribbled on my match day programme. Blatant vandalism. That’s £2.50 Didi owes me!
I bet I found it easier to get Hamann's signature than Gerard Houllier did
My Jim Rollo autograph is far more prestigious
Bath City were running a promotion on the evening’s game – ‘Take a Mate For Free’. Did Dietmar take advantage of this offer? I doubt it. I didn’t see Steven Gerrard or Stefan Kuntz wandering around… hehehe Kuntz.
While in the queue at the bar, a group of elderly Stockport fans arrived. They couldn’t have been more northern if they tried. I know many of us speak funny down here, but they amused me. It was like an episode of Last of the Summer Wine *
The queue to the bar was long “I’m gonna ‘ave to get my binoculars out to see t’bar” shouted out a loud Stockport fan named Wallace at the rear of the line. “It’s gonna be t’alf t’time before we get t’drink” replied his mate, Gromit **
They sounded like what Manchester United fans would sound like if they supported their local club. Instead your typical ManYoo fan sounds like this.
* Yes, I am fully aware that the sitcom is based in Yorkshire and Stockport is in Greater Manchester. Please take this as a light hearted joke (like most of my blogs) and don’t be offended.
** OK, slight exaggeration there. Don’t be mad, remember, we speak funny too (“ooh arrr”)
It’s wasn’t “t’alf t’time” before we were served. We were all drinking Thatchers like members of The Wurzels by 7.
and as for Ian Holloways... more sought after than John Lennon's
The match. Poor.
The referee. A woman. She had a poor game. That isn’t being sexist – “Some of my best friends are women” (see Monday’s blog for that reference). She just missed a few things… like a blatant penalty. Most referees annoy me, even the male ones, so the fact she was female didn’t piss me off, it was the fact she wore black and blew her whistle too many times.
A few Bath City supporters were not as politically correct as me, however. During one particularly bad decision by Amy Fearn, a loud voice bellowed out from behind me “Watch the game, you silly bitch!” I looked behind, expecting to see Andy Gray or Richard Keys. It wasn’t Keys or Gray, it was some abusive City fan. Believe it or not, he calls all referees who come to Twerton a bitch – even the male ones. He may be a moron, but he isn’t a sexist moron.
In case you were wondering about the match result. We lost 2-0. No doubt beating Bath City was a greater achievement for Dietmar Hamann than winning the European Cup.
No work today. I had a training course to go to. It was a bit of a disaster in all honesty. The course was fine. It was everything that happened before and after which gave me a headache.
First of all, the outward bus journey. I boarded the bus. It was full of students. There were no seats left and loads of people standing. It was like a cattle transporter and I was a cow.
As I stood, clinging onto a bus rail for dear life as the X39 sped down the Keynsham bypass, I overheard some stupidly posh and annoying students discussing life. I have nothing against students. Using an excuse borrowed from a racist Daily Mail reader, “some of my best friends are students” However this particular bunch of college-goers was very annoying…
“How old is Tarquin?” one asked their friend, who responded “I dunno. I guess we should ask people”. Quite frankly, I couldn’t give a shiny turd how old their posh friend was. I doubt anybody else on the bus did either. Another removed their iPod earphones to join in the drivel “I think I’ll change my birth date on Facebook every month – that way I can get presents throughout the year”, before breaking into an eruption of laughter and snorts.
I considered praying for a fatal bus crash. There would be broken, severed limbs everywhere. OK, I would be dead too, but I wouldn’t have to listen to their shit.
The bus didn’t crash. Instead it stopped outside a college. The bus emptied. I stayed onboard. When I did get off it started to rain. I had to make the rest of the journey on foot. I got wet. A great start to the day – already I was wet, pissed off and had wished death upon a group of teenagers.
The course went well.
Home time. The route to the centre where my training took place was hard to find. Therefore in the morning, I walked along an embankment, next to a busy road. This was mainly due to the fact it was raining and I didn’t have the time or patience to work out a safer course. Coming back however, I found the footpath – down some steps behind Tesco. Then I became lost. After walking for ages down a small lane, being careful to look out for drug addicts and chavs who would no doubt try to steal my iPhone and rape me, I found my way back onto the main road. Trouble was, it wasn’t the main road I was on this morning. I was lost in Bristol. All I wanted to do was go home, crawl into a ball and cry. Eventually, thanks to the GPS on my phone, I did find my way home, which is where I am blogging from now. Oh, and in case you were wondering, there were students on the bus ride back, but no annoying ones, so I did not have to force the driver to crash into the river.
Braintree Town 3-3 Bath City
Conference National
Saturday 15th October 2011 – 15:00
Braintree. Officially the second best football team in the country to be named after an internal body organ and a natural object. The first being Liverpool. Before any smartarses comment, Hartlepool doesn’t count. Having learnt that fascinating fact on Twitter last week, I simply had to attend Bath City’s trip to the Essex town.
Bath City played Braintree a few seasons ago. Back then, many friends of mine didn’t believe such a place actually existed. They thought it was a football club I simply made up, like Chickenton City or Fisher Athletic. I wasn’t able to convince them Braintree was a real town back in 2008, so I didn’t try again this time.
The turn out of Bath City fans for the trip to Braintree was low. Probably because we have had an awful start to the season, but mainly due to the fact we were playing a club most people didn’t believe was real.
Twenty dedicated insane City fans made the coach trip – the average age on board being 82 years and 3 months. I sat at the rear of the bus. It was freezing cold and I had to wear my coat for almost the entire trip. Funnily enough, the front of the coach was like a sauna. I’m sure the bus has its own atmosphere and varying climate. Had I ventured towards the front, no doubt I would encounter bikini-wearing pensioners enjoying cocktails, whilst sitting under a palm tree.
Katie Price's official magazine. Read during our stay at the service station. The greatest piece of literature since Wayne Rooney's autobiography
One thing I remember about past trips to Braintree is that the ground is almost impossible to find. I know I may sometimes stretch the truth from time to time on this blog, but there is little exaggeration when I say that Cressing Road is better hidden than Area 51. Apparently it cannot be found on Google Maps.
Cue a large coach driving around a small housing estate, narrowly avoiding driveways, with parked caravans which looked like they hadn’t been occupied since 1972. A battered England flag flew from a decaying shed. The flag bared the logo ‘NEWS OF THE WORLD’ – obviously a free gift during England’s 1986 World Cup campaign.
Upon arrival I headed for the clubhouse. It was a warm day and after the long coach journey, I would have killed for a Thatchers Gold. I was disappointed, however not surprised, when I saw the cider on offer – Strongbow or Magners. In my best attempt at an Irish accent I asked for a Magners. Expecting a small man named Paddy to appear, wearing a beard of bees and reminding everyone “there’s method in the Magners”, I was most upset when some middle aged woman handed me the luke-warm bottle and asked “Do you want ice with that?” Ice with cider? How dare you… OK, technically Magners isn’t cider.
I didn’t think their players were that funny
While supping my warm Apple-based beverage, I watched the second half of the Liverpool/Manchester United game. An overweight, middle-aged man stood nearby wearing a ManUtd shirt under an open Braintree FC coat. Braintree is prime ManU country. There are more Manchester United fans in the county of Essex than Lancashire. Then Steven Gerrard scored a goal. A loud cheer erupted. Essex is well-known for its large scouse-community. Seeing the score line, the tubby ManU fan soon realised his true allegiance and did up the zip on his coat, hiding his red football shirt. Then ManU scored. This must have made the fan hot as he took his coat off. I left the clubhouse and headed for the terrace.
Braintree Town appear to not only be a football club but a hardware store, selling everything from bricks and tarmac...
... to scrap metal
The game started well. Very well. Ever-dependant Gethin Jones opened the scoring for The Romans in the first 3 minutes. We were pinching ourselves. Could we have turned the corner? Could we be heading for the dizzy heights of 23rd place? Then a Braintree strike struck the post. Minutes later reality struck the City fans. Braintree scored a goal… and another. That losing feeling returned.
The Braintree faithful. Kept singing "red army". Strange as the players wore orange.
Half time came. I bought a can of coke. Again served at room temperature. Why can’t they just stick their drinks in a fridge? I know they have such technology in Braintree. There was one dumped in a driveway outside the ground.
I walked round to the other side of the ground behind a goal. Despite all my negativity about the trip, being able to mix with the home supporters and swap ends at half time is always a welcome novelty of non-league and something I have missed from most trips since our promotion.
Cressing Road is full of portacabins. I haven't seen that many since I was at junior school.
The fans were downbeat. Could we spark a comeback. I’m always optimistic and replied “maybe”. Within minutes of the second half, Braintree scored again. Awful defending. It was going to be another one of those afternoons. Then, as the autumn sun was setting, Marley Watkins, Bath City’s answer to Lionel Messi, scored. I could have kissed him. Thank you Marley! You’re amazing! No wonder Jennifer Aniston and Owen Wilson named their pet dog after you.
Despite the euphoria, we were still losing and needed a goal. Step up another hero of mine, Lee Phillips. A football war horse and man I would happily change my sexuality for if he came out and asked to come back to my flat for coffee. Deep into ‘Fergie time’, Mr. Phillips scored, sending me, a group of fans with a flag and 19 pensioners into mass hysteria.
A distraught Matt Paine getting a pat on the head from a steward
We may not have won. We may still be bottom. It may be very cliché, but yesterday Bath City won a MASSIVE point. Bring on Stockport.
It is a sad day in Château de Sean. I lost one of my pet fish. When I say I lost it, I didn’t lose it like a friend of mine did to his fish when we were in school. That fish jumped out the bowl, fell behind the cabinet and was missing for days. No, I lost my fish in the same sense that the music world lost Michael Jackson. OK, bad example, the fish didn’t die of an overdose. What I am trying to say, through much sadness, is my fish is dead. He will no longer be sleeping with the fishes.
What’s more, I think it was one of the original fish I bought back in 2006 and not one of the replacements which followed in more recent years. This fish was purchased during the 2006 World Cup. I seem to remember I originally bought five and named them all after members of the England squad. One died on the first day. Probably crocked all along. Serves me right for calling him Michael Owen.
In all fairness, today’s death came as no surprise. This fish had been ill for sometime. It’s was lying on its back for weeks. The fact it kept going for so long, lead me to believe it was just being lazy, which is strange as I don’t remember naming any of the fish after Dimitar Berbatov. Anyway, turns out it must have been dying, which is sad. Still, I did all I could for it and gave it a proper burial *flush*
I should probably stop blogging now and go to bed. A full week of work lies in wait for me tomorrow and I am tired. I always seem to get more tired during the autumn. Sometimes I wish I was a bear or a squirrel – that way I could hibernate. I’ve seen the nature shows, I know how it’s done. All I would need to do is live off McDonalds throughout the whole of the summer, gaining 10 stone and enough fat to see me through the harsh winter. Then just go to bed and sleep until April, awaking to the news that Bath City have won The Conference. I think that may be something to try next year. I’ll ask my boss if I can be given the time off work.
Bath City 2-0 Darlington
Conference National
Saturday 8th October 2011 – 15:00
I rarely write a blog about Bath City home games. This is because short of doing a match report, which I would be rubbish at, there wouldn’t be much to write about. I’m being serious. A typical home game would involve the following… Get out of bed. Walk over the bridge to the Twerton. Go into ground. Say a little prayer. Watch game. Eat a doughnut at half time. Cry about our loss at full time. Go into clubhouse. Drink cider. Walk home.
Yesterday was different though and deserves a blog. For the first time since April, we won a game. Yes, you read it right – Bath City won a game of football! “You’re taking the piss” I hear you all shout – “Who were you playing? Blind Wanderers FC?” Admittedly, we may as well have been. Our opponents were Darlington.
The north east has generally been a hot bed of football. You have Newcastle and Sunderland, while further south there’s Middlesbrough and Leeds. OK, hardly Milan, but more than respectable in their own right. In the middle of all those clubs is poor Darlington. When I was a teenager, I was lead to believe that they were as good as Barcelona. This was because my English teacher was a massive fan. He not only taught me the works of William Shakespeare, but that The Quakers were the best football team ever and always will be. Based on yesterday’s performance, he lied.
Despite 13 games without a win, there was a large turnout of support yesterday, mainly because the club dished out a few hundred free tickets at local universities. As a result, Twerton Park turned into a Freshers’ Fair. I’m certainly not complaining about the student invasion, it was nice to get a decent crowd. A couple of students did take up residence in my usual spot on the terrace, which caused me slight irritation. They were soon moved on, without the need for me to find a prodding stick. I just hope that some of those students return and pay for future games. It was great to have a well-attended game and the money generated will help the club.
If the players were set a mission to sell the club to the students, they did the perfect job. Like I said earlier, I’m crap at writing a match report. Let’s just say we ticked every single box in the ‘How to Play Football’ book. Scored a goal. CHECK. Kept a clean sheet. CHECK. Won the game. CHECK. I’m not going to be like my former English teacher and say we played like Barca, I’m no liar. If I was to compare our performance to a Spanish club, I would say Real Madrid. Except without the cheating. And that idiot of a manager. And that idiot Ronaldo. So yes, Bath City are better than Real Madrid.
Yes, we won. I couldn’t believe it. At full time I stood motionless on the terrace, staring at the Sky Sports Score Centre App my iPhone, which displayed the fulltime score BATH CITY 2-0 DARLIGNTON. Then I went and drank Thatchers in the clubhouse. After waiting 161 days for a win, I was tempted to drink myself into a cider-induced coma. I didn’t. However, if we beat Cambridge United on Tuesday, I cannot guarantee the excitement of back-to-back victories will not force me to intravenously hook myself up to a cider barrel.
Today I celebrated the victory by downloading the Bath City team on Fifa 12. I then played Manchester United, albeit on the very easy setting. I beat them 7-0. If we meet in the FA Cup next January, I am sure the outcome will be the same. Just like if World War 3 ever breaks out, I will be able to take on the enemy single-handedly – just like I did on Call of Duty. Video games are real.
About Me
So you stumbled across my blog. No doubt after searching for something bizarre on Google. Before you hit that 'Back Button', why not stay and have a read for a few minutes?
If you are after a website which gives advice on how to hack an iPhone X, download the latest Steven Seagal movie, or view nudy ladies, you've come to the wrong place and may now press 'Back'.
However, if you would like a lifestyle blog, written by a 30-something chap, living in Bath (England), feast your eyes on this.
You won't discover how to copy PlayStation 4 games. What you will find is a blog, covering life in the West Country, the highs and lows of supporting two unsuccessful football teams, while sharing a house with a wife and rabbit.
All written by a man, somewhere on the sanity-scale between normal and eccentric.
